Relatively few Mexicans join a union but their bosses still wield great power

“LEADERS, workers”, the official magazine of the Mexican Workers' Confederation—the country's largest umbrella organisation of trade unions—is written in North Korean-style rhetoric which is almost beyond parody: “Goodbye to the Great Leader” was the headline, accompanied by countless pictures of Leonardo Rodríguez Alcaine and his funeral, which mourned Alcaine's passing in August. He had taken over leadership of the union in 1997, after the death of Fidel Velázquez, who, as its head for 56 years, was also among the most powerful figures in the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) which ruled Mexico for seven decades, until President Vicente Fox's victory in 2000.

The confederation is the spearhead of the “corporativist” unions which, exploiting their close links with the PRI, long promoted the interests of union leaders over those of workers and the country as a whole. As demonstrated by Mr Velázquez's half-century reign, they were undemocratic as well as deeply reactionary.

All in the past, says the confederation's new head, Joaquín Gamboa Pascoe, an old man who has spent most of his life rising through the union hierarchy. “The lack of democracy doesn't correspond to reality”, he says; “Fidel Velázquez didn't rule alone, and I don't rule alone—our unions are composed of young people.” Nonetheless, his subordinates look visibly nervous as their master speaks. One thing certainly has not changed: the confederation, like many constituent unions, still does not have direct elections for its leaders.

Though not as powerful as it once was, now that Mexico's economy has been partly liberalised, the confederation remains a strong political and economic force. Luis Rubio, the head of CIDAC, a think-tank in Mexico City, calls union leaders “the single most dangerous group” in Mexico. To be fair, some unions, such as the telephone workers', are seen as doing a decent job for their members. But, by and large, corporativism is alive and kicking.

The vast majority of the Mexican workforce—perhaps 50m people—do not work in the formal sector, so the poorest Mexicans do not benefit from the unions' efforts. Indeed, they suffer from higher prices for goods and services caused by the inefficiencies the unions force on industry. Figures for the formal sector vary, but Francisco Zapata of the College of Mexico reckons it contains 11m workers, of whom 7m are unionised. Only a few of these are in independent unions—most are in ones that, like the confederation, have a long, intertwined history with the PRI.

How is it that, despite the PRI's loss of the presidency and their limited membership, corporativist unions retain such power? Strikes are fairly rare but the unions can, and frequently do, bring Mexico City to a halt by blocking its main roads. They also have a perceived ability to get out the vote come election time, though not as reliably as in the past. The result, says Mr Zapata, is an ingrained script in Mexican politics in which union bosses, despite lacking popular legitimacy, are able to demand close access to politicians.

Until Mr Fox's arrival, the power of the presidency kept the unions in at least partial check. But that power, says Graciela Bensusán of the National Autonomous University, derived not from the president's official powers but from his position as head of the PRI “system”. Mr Fox does not occupy such a position, which is why his stab at reforming the labour code, in 2003, ended in such a fiasco.

The still unreformed code gives some unions control over hiring, firing and transfers. Some can gain monopoly powers to organise in a workplace, leading to the widespread existence of phantom “unions of protection”, which exist only to collect money from bosses in return for keeping real unions out. For all the overblown rhetoric in praise of their Great Leaders, the unions do a lousy job of improving the lot of the average worker.